


Rescue

by Terribly_Timid



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, Not Beta Read, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terribly_Timid/pseuds/Terribly_Timid
Summary: The setting event itself is not anything abnormal. In fact it is often that parents or loved ones approach him begging for him to look at a case. His answer is always the same as the echo of what he told Jason a decade ago when  Mary Ellen Barnett pressed the photo of Tara into his hands. They can’t save them all.But maybe, just maybe he can save Spencer Reid.
Relationships: Jason Gideon & David Rossi, Spencer Reid & David Rossi, The BAU Team & David Rossi, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid
Comments: 26
Kudos: 39





	1. “By looking at the questions children are asking, we learn the scope of what needs to be done.”

Chapter 1

_“By looking at the questions children are asking, we learn the scope of what needs to be done.”_

\- Buffy Sainte Marie - 

When David Rossi leaves the BAU things are changing, Jason finally has the beginning of an army in a pair of green agents and a few who still feel like green agents even though they have been there for years. Max was hanging on fueled only by a single minded obsession, a tired relic in a world that very quickly was evolving him out of relevance. 

As David has watched the beginnings of that evolution he wondered how long it would take for new agents to see him the same way. Two years, ten? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, he mentions it once to Gideon after a case that shakes the team's faith in what they do. Gideon just nods and states ‘you always said you were gonna write a book’, which is a thought he struggles to part with then after the Galen's case he decides to leave. He won’t become Ryan obsessed with the one who got away and he lost his faith in the work. He doesn’t disappear into the night though. He sends out a transcript for a book that has sat in his top left desk drawer for two years. Gets a publisher, stays on for his two weeks, then retreats back home still teaching, still doing custodials, and still consulting when the team needs a fresh pair of eyes. But no longer was he on active duty. 

Three years after his departure from the unit finds him on book tours and signings and somehow he has a name. Not a household name but a name in the world of those who instead of escaping to fantasy worlds escape to the land of twisted minds. He is on the last stop of a book tour in Las Vegas signing books after his lecture at the local college. 

The setting event itself is not anything abnormal. In fact it is often that parents or loved ones approach him begging for him to look at a case. His answer is always the same as the echo of what he told Jason a decade ago when Mary Ellen Barnett pressed the photo of Tara into his hands. They can’t save them all. 

So when his hand drops further than his muscle memory expects, and he pulls a photograph across the table and not a book he doesn’t flinch. But he does look down taking eyes of a young boy taking in his thick rimmed glasses, behind which sit sad brown eyes swirling with defeat and a lack of hope, it was a gaze he was familiar with one that he saw on Max and on families of their most innocent of victims. And though it seemed at home on this young boys face the idea of a child witnessing enough pain to have those eyes made him shutter. He took in the rest of the photo noticeable bruising on the right side temple haphazardly covered by too long hair, bags under his eyes that seemed to be carrying the weight of the world, and a purple threadbare sweater covering a light blue collared shirt. 

He pinched his inner arm slightly, wondering if at some point he had fallen asleep and waiting for the part of this dream where the photo turned into Connie Gallen whose own piercing gaze held more direct contempt than hopelessness. 

But the pain from the pinch did not stir his brain into consciousness, nor the photo change. Instead he still sat at that pine wood professors desk his hands wrapped tightly around the small photo. 

The picture is heart wrenching and different from the polished pictures he normally receives, and that in itself is what has him looking up rather than delivering his practiced line with eyes down while he tucks the photo away to discard later. 

But when he looks up it is not a concerned parent or teacher staring back at him. Rather it is a pair of pleading brown eyes belonging to a young teen and more importantly the blue eyes of a child glistening with silent tears and a final shred of hope.

The older boy is well kept, dark hair brushed back a sweater and jeans that both look well taken care of. 

The girl is a different story, her own hair laying thick and dirty against her scalp matted in a way that speaks to months of ill care. A scratch on her left eye that she does not try to hide behind her hair. There are old second degree burns on her fingers and the backs of her hands as she rests them on the table. She is draped in a too many layers all of which swallow her already waif like frame. From the purple sweater that he is certain is the same one the boy in the photo is wearing, to the woolen over throw that peeks out under a thick leather coat and is neatly folded around the bunched up arms of that leather coat to allow her hands movement 

“Agent Rossi Sir, we need your help.” The boy implores his voice soft eyes pleading. 

“He says you and your team save people in your stories.” She says but then his own security is moving them away stating that there were other customers. He looks up to tell them to stop, to return the photo and wash this victim from his conscience but when he does they are gone. 

He tucks the photo in his pocket, forces a smile and finishes signing the books. When the event is over he takes a better look at the photo and turns it around but there is nothing there. He asks his publicist to go over the list of people who signed in looking for college credit. What he is looking for, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t find anything worth noting. 

The next day he is supposed to pack and be ready for his flight back home at noon. The last day in a city is one that normally has him sleeping in then slowly packing. It is a time he has to enjoy the restful nature of retirement not having to rush to the next city, the next dump site, the next precinct and witness the next in a long line of the horrible things that humans do to each other. 

Instead of following his normal routine, that morning he wakes early and decides to do one more thing before allowing himself to add the picture on his night stand to the pile of victims he abandoned. The local elementary school is practically buzzing with people when he arrives that morning. He walks up to the front desk where he meets a stern looking woman. He shows her the picture looking for a spark of recognition, “do you know who this is?” He asks though he is not hopeful with the way she squints at it. Her hand reaches out to take the picture and get a better look but he pulls back taking the photo out of her reach and back into his chest. 

“Maybe,” the woman shrugs “looks like all the kids who go here” she states and he deflates. He shows it to three other workers in the front office who all give him the same answer. With more than 150 elementary schools in the county he finds that tracks. The kids who handed him the photo yesterday probably don’t even live in the area. He thanks the women for their help then leaves telling himself that without a name there is nothing else he can do. He is opening the car door when he hears it. The clack of heals the rub of a woolen suit and a call out for him to stop. He steps away from the rental and walks over to the lengthy woman who chased him down. 

“Sir, sorry I am Mrs. Baker the school counselor, and I was wondering if I could see that photo.” She asks standing up and straightening her clothes, a manicured hand then flying up to tuck a wayward chunk of hair behind her ear. He nods and pulls the photo out of his breast pocket. Watching as recognition blooms on her face before her features fall into one of grief. 

“Do you know this boy?” He asks though her face gives him the answer he needs. 

“Spencer Reid.” She says her hand covering her mouth as her eyes drink in the photo like a woman who is parched. 

“Do you know where he is?” Is the next question but the woman is too hysterical to answer. 

“Ma’am, Yesterday two children, a boy about fourteen years of age and a girl about five years of age handed me this photo and stated the boy was in danger. Do you know where he is?” He says, not sure how to not sound a bit crazy trying to inform this woman why he is asking about a kid he has no connection to other than a photograph. 

“He’s dead.” 

“Dead?” 

“He stopped showing up for school, His mother, his mother never, when the cops went for truancy they found his blood...” the woman chokes unable to speak, “his mother was sick. Very sick. She doesn't even remember that she has children. And when they tried to question her she attacked.” The woman chokes and David grabs her arm directing her to the nearest bench and sitting down across from her. The fact local PD determined the boy was killed by his mother went unsaid but it was louder than anything else in the area. 

“The poor babies.” The woman sobbed. Dave pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. It took a good ten minutes for her to calm down and in that time Dave did little more than rub her back. The weight of the knowledge that this kid wasn’t able to be saved weighed heavily on him. But he couldn’t determine why. In each city he would be handed at least one child or loved one and each he discarded. ‘Can’t keep that you know’ he told Gideon a cautious word back when it had only been the two of them trying to do enough leg work to make behavioral analysis a possible tool for finding the worst killers. 

In a dozen years since that one photo sat in Gideon’s wallet Dave had thrown away hundreds. His hand reached into his pocket and grasped at the thin golden chain. 

It had taken a decade and a brutal home murder for Rossi to understand why Gideon kept that photo and why Max vacationed in Philly. He had explained it to Kate and Aaron after a case went south and they saw their leaders stumble, ‘sometimes you need hope to remind you of all the good in the world,’ he had said ‘but other times you need pain to remind you that the world is not all good and that evil is all part of human behavior’. And that is what it was a token to remind them that despite all the good they did the evil they fought would never be defeated. This was not a war that they could win. That is why Gideon kept Tara, Max those letters, and Rossi the Galen Children. 

And that is why he could not keep Spencer Reid. 

But the thought of abandoning him in a trash can hurt. From the little he gathered from Mrs. Baker’s emotional exploit the boy's life he had not been a kind one, he could not disgrace his memory as well. Which meant he had to return the photo to its owner. 

“The kids, they deserve to have this back. Do you have any idea who they may be?” He asks his words coming out fast in the hope that maybe this woman may be able to connect him with those children again. 

“Maybe, he has a sister Julian Reid, she’s in class now.” The woman nods. 

“Can you give this to her?” He asks, pressing the photo into the woman’s hand. 

“Yes” she said but as her fingers curl around the image Rossi pulls back. His breath hitches startled at his own reaction, but his brain is berating him. Telling him that he can’t leave until he returns this boy to his family, and he can’t leave that job to a middle man. 

“Actually It might be better if I did.” 

“I don’t know if that is for the best. Julian is not a normal child, she is different, and she is young still and not fully grasping her own grief. She keeps speaking about Spencer as if he will return any day now.” The woman said. 

“Ma’am I worked with a team for many years that specialized in talking with victims' families. I would not do anything to upset the child. I just want to make sure that this photo ends up back where it belongs.” and the woman nods then stands leading him back inside. This time he gets a visitor's pass and follows the still shocked woman through the brightly colored halls. 

They stop at a room that reads Room 2B and she turns to him asking him to wait in the hall a few moments later the door opens and the woman holds the shoulders of the girl who looks a whole lot smaller in the daylight than she did behind the small card table that had been set up for autographs. And the state of her dirty blonde matted hair, blue eyes that were filled with a damning about of awareness, and the signs of physical abuse that were visible in her ripped jeans, three layers of over throws, and duct taped shoes were more pronounced. 

“Julie,” The woman speaks as she kneels down twisting the girl so that they are facing each other. “I would like you to meet my friend..” she says motioning to Dave who by this point has taken a knee as well looking at the waif of a girl. 

“Hello Agent Rossi sir. It is nice to see you again. Have you saved him already?” The child says her voice low but her eyes are full of hope. She has stepped away from the woman and toward Dave, her small burned hand reaching up to grab his. 

“Julie darling we talked about this darling. Spencer is safe in heaven and one day…” 

“Heaven isn’t real. It’s a non-place and Spencer isn’t there." The girl explains quite calmly looking at the still weeping woman as if she were the child that one needed to calm in this situation. 

"The man took him when he came to the house." She reported this time looking up at Rossi. 

"You have to save him Mr Rossi please. So he can come back and get Mama out of that hospital and we can go home.” The girl says and Dave’s hand stutters on his way to get the photo. The story he heard outside coming back to his mind, and the holes he would have otherwise been happy to ignore light up in his head making him groan. 

"You saw the man who took your brother?" He asks tucking the photo back into his pocket and bending down to meet her gaze head on. 

"Yes. He was mama sized, bigger than Mrs. Baker but smaller than you. He had a big red beard and red hair and a black hat he wore. There was a cross on his knuckle, here," the girl said manipulating Rossi's hand to point to his ring finger.

"He wore a dark coat with a zipper all the way up and his hood over his cap. He had jeans and boots, big boots. He had a van, white, that was dented in the front like he hit someone." The child said her voice calm her cadence even Rossi looked up at the school officer who now had a hand on the girl and was trying to pull her back. He rose his own hand as a motion for her to step away. 

"How?" 

"That is what you need to know right Mr. Rossi, that is the identi-viable information you need to find Spencer, right." she said stumbling for the first time her eyes rolling back as if trying to recall the word. 

"Has she ever..." He looked up at the woman whose face of grief and morphed into one of anger. Now instead of trying to coax the girl from Rossi she grabbed both her shoulders tight and pulled her back stepping in front of him as if Rossi were the greatest threat to this girls safety. 

"I think it is best if you leave now." The woman said and Rossi just nodded, his head still spinning. 

"NO!" the girl yelled her composure finally cracking.

"No, Mrs Baker let me go.He took him, he took him away, you have to find him, you save people, you” The girl is hysterical at this point fighting against Mrs. Baker and Dave looks up at Mrs. Baker knowing that he has outstayed his already tentative welcome.   
  
So Dave goes but his plans to leave are dashed. He sits in his car and pens down the description on the back of the photo. 

_Spencer Reid_

_Male, White, Under the age of 30, between 5'4 and 6'0_

_Slim build, under six feet, red hair and beard,_

_white van dented front bumper._

He calls his agent and states he will be staying in Vegas, then drives his car to the nearest precinct. 


	2. “It takes courage to live through suffering. It takes honesty to observe it.”

"It takes courage to live through suffering. It takes honesty to observe it."

\- C. S. Lewis -

The local precinct in Las Vegas is as full and as loud as he remembers them being in states all over the country. There is a constant hum of movement that runs through the place, a rhythm of life and despite the fact he would be hard pressed to say he missed his old life, David Rossi felt himself relax into that rhythm in the same way he relaxed into a good bottle of scotch or an occasional cigar. He walked past the front desk flipping his wallet open to reveal his rarely used badge, as a lecturer and teacher he still had one, but he did not generally feel the need to use it unless he was in Virginia. When he entered a man in his late thirties stood to greet him.

"My name is Detective Rodriguez, officer in charge, How can I help you agent?" He asked.

"I would like to take a look at a case file, for research purposes." Dave states a smile gracing his features, 'Il mele catta più mosche, che non fà l'aceto.' as mom would say, and without a warrant, a probable cause for this case to be connected to any serial activity, or an invite from the local precinct he would not be getting any information without the local PDs cooperation. So he smiled and within a half hour managed to charm his way into an unused storage closet of an office with a computer and a police box full of files and evidence, contained within them a police report and a taped interview of one Diana Reid.

A short sad kind of laugh bubbled in his throat as he shut the door, remembering all the days he had done the same thing back when it was the Behavioral Science Unit and it consisted of just was Jason and him sitting in a bunker driving around to different precincts trying to convince the sheriffs that the locals needed their help. Back before By now the BAU had hundreds of cases come in a day from locals, consulting on dozens from their desks and flying out in the jet for those cases where they were needed the most.

God he missed that jet, flying commercial was a joke comparatively.

He starts pulling on a pair of sterile gloves and picking through the evidence which is severely lacking. There is an old sponge that has blood on it, a metal frying pan, and three books that had blood on the spines or on the pages. One Tristan and Isolde, A collection of poems by Chaucer, and a hard cover version of The Narrative of John Smith. Books that had been well taken care of and well preserved before they were splattered with blood. The last item almost slipped his notice it was a small brass interior bedroom door key. Used to lock one in from the outside.

After he closely examines each piece of evidence he sets them all back in the box knowing that other than confirming that a frying pan had been involved there was little else the hard evidence could tell him at this point.

Instead he turned to the paperwork, he grabbed the police file opening it to find a stack of pictures, the first of a small house sandwiched between two others that looked practically identical on the outside, but overgrown grass and bushes made the house the officers had been called to stand out.

Slowly he removed the other pictures and started to arrange them on the desk. Placing the booking photograph of one Diana Reid next to the photo of Julian eyes wide and unfocused, pupils were blown wide in fear as she looked not at the camera but at whoever held her right arm up at a sharp angle immobilizing her for the photo. There was no photo of Spencer. So Rossi fished the photograph out of his pocket and placed it next to the others. Some part of the beast in his chest settled when he saw the three together. At least in this sense he could reunite the family.

He then looked through and organized the pictures of the house. Laying them out in front of him as if they were pieces of a puzzle. He started with what looked to be the front room. The inside held a singular threadbare floral couch that had upholstery on the arms sides peeling back to show termite eaten wood. It was covered by a white sheet and speckled with dried blood which was pointed out using blood markers.

The room held nothing else but a small red wagon tucked into the side of the couch and copious amounts of books and loose papers. None of them were close enough to the photo enough to see titles of in the photographs, but it was clear to see that there was not any that would belong to a child. Atop of that photo he lay the photo of the small dining room that looked out into the equally overgrown backyard. This room was equally filled with books, but also held a table and three chairs all made up from different wood types and qualities from what once must have been different table sets and all bolted into the floor using what looked to be shelf brackets.

There was another photo of the kitchen where it seemed the last moments of Spencer Reid, at least in the house, played out. There was a splattering of blood on the kitchen counter that faced the dining room and a hand upturned flat against the white counter top. As well as a pool of dried blood on the old yellow linoleum floor. But even from the bad angle he could see what he imagined were drops of blood coming from the hallway. He rummaged through the remaining photos to try and get a good look at the hallway. It was not really able to be called a hallway, rather a small common Spence in which the houses two bedrooms, a single bathroom, and a linen closet opened into. It seemed the blow happened as the boy faced the front of the house or more specifically the front facing bedroom door.

'A single blow to the head from behind', Dave thought as he inspected the photo. 'the boy must have just shut the door when he was hit.' was the next thought looking at where the blood markers fell around the door. His eyes tracked the floor of the room in the photo finding an evidence marker. He quickly stood digging though the box to find the small door key. 'or maybe he had been locking the door. an extra layer of protection for his sister?'

'Then the kid staggers away fast enough to make it to the kitchen, but he doesn't go down till he reaches the counter.' he thinks picking back up the kitchen photo to get a better look. The blood splatter on the counter wasn't localized so it could be inferred that the blood had come from another injury. Dave's best guess, the frying pan cut the kids scalp.

'He either falls back or is pulled back and lands on the floor.' but that was the long and short of it. There were no drag marks, or droplets of blood that suggested the boy had been carried out of the house. There was a sign of multiple forced entries at the front door which had its crown molding pulled back so the beams of the wooden made house were exposed making the continued forced entries.

He didn't know yet, if he believed Mrs. Baker's story or Julian's or some disturbing medium between the two. All he knew is that whatever happened in that house things did not turn out well for Spencer Reid.

He took a deep calming breath and wished that he had a scotch or cigar at this point. Or he wished that he had never spoken to the girl, never heard her haunting discription that even now he couldn't get out of his head. Wishing he had handed over the photo and walked away. Then the name Spencer Reid would cross his mind as a tragedy but wouldn't feel like a crushing weight like it did now.

Exiting the room he was greeted by many looks, no doubt Rodriguez had postured around stating that he had helped the FBI agent. Something that even way back when seemed to tickle the local detective's pink until the FBI agents started telling them what to do. He made his way to the coffee machine and made a cup, even signed a few autographs for some of the more eager officers. Then he holed himself back into that office and decided to start on the written report.

He took note of the case number and the officers reporting Murphy and Stewart. He tracked over the incident code, Then his eyes tracked the date, May 19 , 1991 and his breath hitched. Six months, the officers reported to the Reid house almost six months ago. Half a god damn year.

He shut the file and bit back a curse knowing it would do him no good to create a scene. Knowing that all creating a scene would do would have people start to ask questions about why he was interested in the case, questions that he couldn't very well answer.

After a few moments of pacing the room to calm himself and finishing off the entirety of his coffee he decided to go to the restroom and splash some water on his face. Sure it probably looked suspicious but at that moment he was less concerned with local PD suspicion and more with making it through the rest of that file.

When he reentered the room he took the photo of both children in his hands. One who deserved justice and one who deserved answers. He found himself going as far as to run a finger over the gentle curve of the children in the photo's cheeks.

They were just so small, so scared, and right now the only way either would get what they needed is if he got through those files. So he placed the photos down and grabbed the case file, tapping it twice on the desk before he began to read.

An hour later he put the file down and ran for another round of precinct gruel. When he re-entered the room his eyes drifted back to the file. It told a story that was different from the two he had already heard. This story spoke of a welfare check, that was reported not by a school official but by a professor at the local community college Harris. Who according to Harris was a student in his calculus 2 class, Harris stayed the boy normally, always attended class but had not for three weeks, and only got involved after the boy missed the class final.

The reporting officers stated that they apparently got to the house late at night on the seventeenth. Inside they heard yelling and the clanking of something as it was thrown against walls. When they knocked the door was opened by none other than little Julian Reid. Who from the description of the reporting officer looked a bit like death warmed over. The girl had explained that her brother was 'out' and that her Mama was sleeping. She asked the officers to come back at a different time. The officers pushed forward using a warrant and a bit of force to get through the door. They had only just entered the house when Diana Reid attacked them. Yelling at them that it was their fault, that the government was watching, all signs of a schizophrenia break. It was the child who ended up calming the situation, the child who sat with her mother in one of the bedrooms holding her until more officers and paramedics arrived.

From the report it seemed the next wave of officials had begun Diana's delusions anew and once again she attacked until she was sedated and all of the Reid's were removed from the house. He looked through the child services reports for each child and the psych evaluation for the mother before letting the cases fall open and pushing back in the chair.

Dave hung his head.

Something about this just didn't track. His instincts were screaming at him that this was wrong. That something was wrong.

Watching the interview only confirmed it. He watch the excessive force used by the cops, and the struggle of a woman who clearly wasn't well as she screamed at them incomprehensible thoughts attempting to attack them from where she was shackled to the chair.

He stood packing up the files and placing them together. He tucked Spencer's picture in with his family ready to put the boy to rest.

But even there nestled between photographs of his mother and sister Dave couldn't help but feel that it was wrong so he slipped it back into his pocket and figured asking about missing files couldn't hurt.

He exited the office and walked to the one down the way where Rodriguez sat pouring over his own paperwork.

"Its a rough one right," Rodriquez said intoning his head toward the evidence box that Dave was holding.

"Is there anything else on the case?" He asked. His mind ticking off the things that were missing, an autopsy report for one, a interview with Julian, a psychiatric interview for Diana.

"Nope, that was it. Dad, William Reid, is a hotshot commercial lawyer lot of it was handled in private and quickly you know the type I am sure." The man said, Rossi nodded schooling his expression, because he did know the type. And it spoke of corruption and possibly even a motive to kill. "Got her into a care facility though. Made sure she got help." And made sure that if she did know anything everyone would discredit her. The more this man spoke the more the father seemed to be becoming a suspect.

"Of course, I would love to speak with him. To learn more about how the mother and son interacted before the incident. Do you have an address or number that he can be contacted at?"

"Sure, he is out in Summerland. Moved to get away from the memories you know." The mans said using the flip address book on his desk he then wrote down the number and address and passed it to Dave who gave a nod.

"Thank You," He said. Deciding that talking to William Reid couldn't hurt either.

Once again his mothers voice spoke clearly in his thoughts. 'Chi cerca mal, mal trova' he heard her say in his ear. Most days he agreed, but not today. Today he was chasing that evil, made up or not.

"No problem, I remember this case, for a mother to do that. Did you think you found what you were looking for?" The man asked, placing the files on his desk and looking back up. His hand going to adjust his collar.

"No, but I don't think what I am looking for is in those files." Rossi said before turning on his heel and walking toward the door, the sky outside was black and Dave wondered how a day had passed with Him staring at that file, "Have a nice night." He called back to Rodriquez as his hand gripped the door.

"You as well Agent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some minor changes to the first chapter took place, 98% phrasing and the tone of Julian's description of the events. But the words didn't change. I don't know why I catch more errors once I publish than I do as I read things over 50 times before publishing. 
> 
> Translations 
> 
> Il mele catta più mosche, che non fà l'aceto - you catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar. 
> 
> chi cerca mal, mal trova - he who seeks ill, finds ill


	3. I no longer listen to what people say, I watch what they do. Behavior never lies.

“I no longer listen to what people say, I watch what they do. Behavior never lies.”

\- Winston Churchill - 

After leaving the precinct Rossi found a KMart, inside he bought himself a map along with some cheap scotch, a pack of notebooks, and multicolored pens, things he normally kept in his go bag for cases. 

He got a few instructions from his cashier and then made his way to a hotel that split the hour drive between  Wieder, Kirschenbaum & Moore and the local college that Professor Harris taught at.

It was not fancy, in fact it was a bit run down. Yet another step back in time to the hovels that they used to sleep in all those years ago. After dropping off his suitcase and his purchases on the creaky mattress he ordered in room service and took a shower. 

After he was clean and the room service arrived he sat in the room at the desk/ table and opened both his food as the notebook and pens. As he eats he begins to info dump, a skill he learned from his childhood and perfected sitting in the passenger seat of an FBI car tuning out Jason’s horrid taste in music. 

He sat and took every single detail of what he remembered out of his head and placed onto a page before his mind had the ability to distort it. It also helped put real weight to his thoughts by making them real. Something others could see and understand. He has always used multiple colors to separate ideas. 

That night he used three colors, one for the account given by Mrs. Baker, which no doubt came from the media. Next the official report made by  Murphy and Stewart. Finally he penned the account of Julian Reid. He used a fourth color to draw the connections that were the same in each story. 

Where was the truth? 

He worked until his eyes hurt and his back arched. Then he decided to call it a night. Tomorrow he would talk to William Reid and Professor Harris and see if he can not make a clearer picture of Spencer Reid’s last moments.

Then he would go home. 

He rises early, dresses in a button up shirt and a pair of slacks. He toes on his leather boots and prepares for the day.

Before he leaves the hotel he calls both the college that Harris taught at and the office where Reid worked. He found out when it would be best to corner Harris, 10 after his second morning class but before his noon lunch hour, and set a meeting with William Reid first thing. 

Tucking his notes into a briefcase he threw on his long taupe peacoat and his scarf before making his way to his rental car. He looked back over the notes as he waited to meet with Mr. Reid, who was surprised already at work before their 7:30 appointment and from the look of how deep he was in his files, he had been there for a good hour at least.

When the secretary let him back he smiled at her and dismissed her before she got the chance to announce him. Through his years as an investigator he learned there were a few precious moments between when he entered a room and when someone who was engaged in work as William Reid was would notice his presence.

A small part of Rossi, had hoped to walk in to find a man fitting the physical description Julian had given. But instead there was a clean shaven man in his late 30s, balding, dressed in a sharp suit and a red tie. A calculated presence if Rossi ever saw one. 

The office around him was generic, with dark yellow walls two bookshelves on opposite sides of the room filled with trinkets including some drawings that were no doubt made by a younger Spencer or Julian. There was a hat on the left book shelf and two baseballs in clear cube cases and a signed wooden bat laying across the table against the window. 

He scanned the room for photographs. Of which there were a total of four. One of his graditation, one of his wedding day, one of hismelf and who Rossi assumed were the partners of the law firm shaking hands and the final picture of a family of four. But it was old, outdated and showed a much happier life than the one Rossi had heard sincebeing handed Spencer’s picture. 

In this photo Spencer was maybe four years old sitting on a hospital bed to the left, a healthier looking Diana who held, Rossi assumed, Julian in her arms. William is to Diana’s left and is smiling up at the camera where Diana is smiling down at what from an angle seems to be Spencer, who only has eyes for the newest member of the family of four. But that is where the photos end. No smiling photos of vacations or sporting events or birthday parties. Nothing at all. It was as if William paused in time almost six years ago. 

“A beautiful family,” he said finally. When William looked up there was a brief moment of panic, a jump that came from the fact that Rossi had infiltrated his space without William’s knowledge. Then there was a look toward the door which still sat open. 

“How old?” Dave asked a smirk present as William floundered under his gaze. 

“Excuse me?” The man asked standing up walking toward the door as if to question it on how it opened. 

“Your children, how old?” Dave continued before walking over to one of the leather back chairs that sat across from William’s desk and sitting down his bag at the side of the chair. 

“Three and Eight,” the man said. 

Dave schooled his expression but inside took note of the fact William Reid aged his children three years down and did so while dismissing the question outright. “How did you, what are you, look sir I have an important meeting at 7:30.” 

“Oh I know, I am your meeting. David Rossi nice to meet you.” He said extending his right hand while his left flipped open his badge. Now to watch William flounder to compose himself as his face flipped through a good deal of micro expression before falling into a fake smile and a firm over practiced handshake.    
  


“I appologize,” William said before walking over to his desk. He wasn’t concerned or cornered. Now he was confident flipping his suit jacket down before he sat and resting his hands on the desk facing eachother finger tips touching softly. 

“Detective Rodriquez called me, said you were looking into Diana for research purposes?” He said head tilting in a more exateraded mannor than it would should the question be genuine and eyebrow raising. More than that the man distanced Spencer from the case, speaking only of Diana. 

“Yes, the field of behavioral science is still new.” He lied easily, “when cases crop up that have specific patterns we like to look into them. It helps us build a baseline for what we see each day and helps create a better profile in the future.” 

“Diana is not well,” William said, raising his hand to his heart face softening. 

“I am just here to try and make sure nothing like this is able to happen again.” Rossi said feigning compassion. “ I know it must be hard for you and your daughter at this time. I do not mean to pry at open wounds.” 

“Of course,” 

“How is she doing?” 

“Diana is doing better, medicine is helping.” 

“I meant your daughter.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Your daughter, How is she doing?”

“I don't see what she has to do with this.” William said a bit too quickly, something else being hidden. Rossi tried to pull up the girl in his mind, wondering for a horrifying moment if she had any new bruises on her when he saw her for the second time. His mind just kept pulling up the shoes and the coats, specific details of her face were lost on him so he tucked that thought away focusing on the more important matters of the moment. 

“Of course,” He said showing all the small physical signals that showed he surrendered the topic all together. 

“Detective Rodriquez said you had some questions.” 

“Yes, just some standard ones. Are you ready?” He asked, William Reid nodded and the game was

When he leaves  Wieder, Kirschenbaum & Moore he is sure of two things. One that William Reid is a special kind of pond scum and two William Reid lists of concerns went his image, his job, Diana and that is where it stopped. Not once did the man mention either of his children’s names. Nor did he even address their existence in passing. When asked things like did ‘Diana often spend time with Spencer’ he was given an answer of ‘Diana loves to share her love of reading with those around her.’ Which was crap. 

But his lack of general interest in either child made it so that Dave was doubtful William Reid had done anything more than impede an investigation that might not place him favorably. 

Dave felt sick when he thought of that. Ignoring getting justice for your son and ignoring your daughters grief so that you could keep the ‘perfect’ lifestyle.

Even with an hour drive and stopping to get food on the way Dave was early to meet Harris. But there in the main office was a student worker who offered to show him where M building was. He walked with said student to the building ignoring the hundreds of questions the young adult had about the FBI’s intrest in Humorless Harris, or if by chance he was a serial killer and his weapon of choice was the death glare. Rossi just turned to the over eager teenager with a death glare of his own. At that the kid hopped back on his feet motioned to the door of the classroom and ran away.

With ten minutes to go before the lecture let out, and at least three minutes to clear the room before he could talk to Harris, Dave decided to sit down on one of the benches that populated the hallway. Making sure he twisted just enough so that he could see the door to Harris’ classroom. Then he flipped out his notebook, chose a fourth color from his bag and started on the account of one William Reid. 

Harris let the student’s out of the room. He watched them all waiting until the second wave left before walking to the door. Harris was an older portly man who stood a good six inches shorter than Dave. He wore of all things a hawian shirt, a suit jacket that had no hope of closing, shorts, and dockers. His face was rounded and his features pinched together by the extra weight he carried. His hair was either white or yellow but under the fluorescent lights of the classroom Dave was hard pressed to figure it out. He wore a pair of thin wire glasses that perched on puffed cheeks and did not cover the face of his beady blue eyes. 

He was currently tucking things into a leather satchel. 

“Excuse me, Professor Harris?” Dave asked, walking up toward him. 

“Yes, may I ask who would like to know.” The man said turning and raising one practically invisible eyebrow at him. 

“David Rossi, I am researching a case you brought to the attention of local PD involving this child.” He said walking forward to pull out the photograph and show it to Harris. 

“Ah yes the young Mr. Reid. A bright mind in deed. I will also mourn the fact we were unable to work closer in his time here.” The man said before he turned to dismiss a teacher's aide. “Why don’t we talk in my office. Less chance for interested parties to ease drop.” He said looking around the room and having all the remaining college students quickly grabbing the reaminder of the items that sat on their tables and either stuffing it in their bags or under their arms to get out of the room faster. 

The professor's office was simple, understated, and filled with photos of himself and his family, what seemed to be a son and two daughters. Though the daughters seemed to age through the years, the son stayed stagnant. There was a little league baseball cap behind him and a backpack in the right corner. A grieving father, Rossi thought, and if he was able to date the pictures correctly from a distance, one who has been grieving a long time. 

The juxtaposition of this office and the office that Rossi had left not to long ago were not loss on the italian man. Nor was the body language of the person he was interviewing. Because, although Harris seemed to be hiding something he did so more with a nervous energy that spoke to a deep fear, not a calm demenor and easy lies that William Reid had spouted. 

“I saw that it was you reported the boy missing?” Rossi stated. 

“Yes, I was worried,” the man stated as Rossi narrowed in on his eyes. This action, once again something that his gut did without conscious permission from his brain. Harris seemed to be blinking a bit too much, his eyes bright and face unwrinkled despite the smile that adorned it, he was lying. Dave was sure of it. But with out an actual investigation Dave wasn’t all to sure his imediate knee jerk reaction to treat this like an interrogation was going to work. Because if it escalated he had nothing to fall back on. So instead he took a deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth ‘ **_In bocca chiusa non entra mosca.’_ ** his mother would always tell him as a child when she needed him to hold in his thoughts until she finished whatever task she was doing. 

“Can you tell me why?” Dave asked, voice deceptively calm. 

“Of course, you see, I saw Mr. Reid was a mentee of mine.” 

“You were close?” 

“No, not close. But I paid him more mind than the rest of my students, spoke to him more often, took more note of his progress through the course.” 

“But you wouldn’t call yourself close.” 

“Mr. Reid was a very private child. He spoke much but said very little. I do not believe there are many who could truly call themselves close to him.” 

“You teach advanced maths here correct.” 

“Yes, I teach both higher levels of calculus and a course of differential equations.” 

“What course did you have Mr. Reid in?” 

“Oh he has taken all three, but I noted him missing in our differential equations course.” 

“Can you tell me a bit about him as a student.” 

“It goes without saying that he was brilliant. He learned concepts much faster than any one I have ever had the pleasure to teach, he not only understood those concepts but applied them to solve puzzles that I have seen baffle some of the brightest minds that the field of mathematics currently has. In each course he would come in by the second class meeting having mastered the material. I tested him at first, made him show me that he knew the material. He was sucessful so I gave him other material to work on and each week he would come back with the textbook and a notebook filled with problem set after problem set. He was a marvel, but he never was the most consistent student. He would disappear some weeks and come back with bruises or looking exhausted. I never pushed though, maybe I should have, but it didn’t seem to be my place and children like Mr. Reid, well they always seem to have enemies amongst the normal minds of the world.” The man rambled the ticks of a lie fading slightly making Dave wonder how much of what the man rambled was the truth and how much was carefully hiding lies behind it. He also wondered how any adult felt it wasn’t their ‘place’ to insure the safety and health of the children around them. 

“You said in the report it was him missing the final that made you concerned.” Dave prodded. 

“Yes, Mr. Reid may have had an inconsistent attendance record but he always was present on test day. Always. So I felt it was best to bring up my concerns with the local police.” He said. 

“The police reported that Diana Reid, the boy’s mother was the one responsible for his death. Did you ever meet Mrs. Reid or have any inkling that she was hurting her son?” 

  
“I never met her no, but the boy did show signs of abuse.” The man nodded. 

“The bruises?”

“Yes he stated that they came from the school bullies or that he was clumsy but you don’t get like that from a bunch of kids or even from tripping over y our own feet.” 

“Before he disappeared did he seem to have more bruises or less.” 

“Less, he hadn’t had anything significant for about three months. However he was out for about a week and a half before the final exam.” 

“Did you ever meet the sister?” 

“No, I did not learn of the young Ms. Reid until after.” And that was a blatant lie Rossi itches to call his bluff but instead Dave nodded, exchanged final pleasantries and made to leave when the man called out to him. 

“I don’t know how far your ‘research’ is ment to take you.” The man says, his eyes glistening in a way that tells Rossi he knows a whole lot more than he is letting on but fear is keeping his lips sewn shut. 

“But please, find him if you are able, I think we all would rest easier to know that he is safe.” Dave just nodded. 

He drives by the house and finds it for sale. 

He calls the agent and sets an appointment to view the property early the next morning. After all, what's one more day in Vegas. He spends the rest of the day at the local news offices every weekly newspaper for the past two years laid out in boxes that he slowly pages through. Looking for a sign that could connect Spencer’s case to something larger. 

He gets through fifty two newspapers before the security officer tells him that they are locking up for the night. 

He gets chinese take out, sits at the desk and adds the information he gathered that day to his notes on the case of Spencer Reid. 

  
  
  



	4. “Your assumptions are your windows on the world...” -Isaac Asimov

"Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won't come in."

-Isaac Asimov-

* * *

One of the very first things that David Rossi learned in Nam was how dangerous pretense could be. Walking into a situation thinking that you had all the answers was a recipe for disaster and knowing not to was a lesson that had been hard taught. But he had learned it then impressed it on Jason the first time the idiot went and got himself shot. Impressed it on Ryan when the man was first learning how to back track a perp through a profile. Impressed it on every single class he ever taught, in all three of his books, and every time he held a lecture. Because false pretenses got people killed and made people easier targets.

At his age, not that he was old but he had entered early retirement, he thought he knew the lesson. Thought he had a good grasp on it. Thought he was somehow immune to human nature to rely on previous knowledge to draw new conclusions and certify them as fact.

‘Only fools are certain and assured’, the Michel de Montaigne quote that he used in lectures the quote he parroted while Jason told everyone to ‘think outside the box’ both good advice but neither stopped the hissed breath from escaping his lips as he stepped into the house on Orchid Avenue.

He knew that there would not be any signs of the Reid family in the house. Time has a way of destroying evidence and the price point did not speak to a quick sale but rather someone who renovated and flipped the house. The differences were even visible on the outside. New red door, new windows, fresh coat of paint, sod and landscaping. All different from the overgrown mess that was shown in the pictures. The realtor was a portly man with a red face that almost seemed to be choked by his white Oxford. He wore a brown sport jacket that probably had not button closed in a decade and had a grey tie that was being blown by the wind.

After the annoying pleasantries of the day they entered the house. The realtor opened the door and allowed Rossi to step in and just stare, take note of the beige like off white walls, the painted foot boards and after a small buffer zone of tile the new sand colored carpet stretched from one end of the room to the other. Rossi took a few more steps in and scanned using his recall to try and recreate the crime scene in his mind. The books that lined the walls, the singular termite ridden couch, the sheet tucked in and the door that had years of wear and tear. He had to give it to whomever renovated they had not done to bang up a job. The realtor was talking. Something about the style and the updates. Dave just nodded tuning in just enough to make it look like he was really interested. The dining room and kitchen had new white colored tiles that stretched from the plastic runner that separated the living room from the area to the runner that separated the hallway from the area and all the way against the back wall. The cabinets had not been changed still a pine tone with white countertops. The fridge and pantry sitting behind the U shaped counters. He stopped in the middle of the U eyes trained on where he suspected a blood stain still sat beneath the polished white tile.

It was a good 30 feet from this spot to either exit. The biggest question of the logistics of this whole thing hit him again. How did whoever did this move Spencer after he fell. How was it that there was this one blood spot then nothing else.

He had spent to long looking. The realtor cleared his throat eyes narrowed and not softening after Dave blinked back to reality and offered him a reassuring grin. The bathroom was like every other bathroom he had ever seen.

The house fit his mental floor plan to that point. He then made the cardinal error of believing that the rest of the house would fit as well.

He was wrong.

The back bedroom, he had determined belonged to the mother, was small and much longer than it was wide. It was now carpeted with the same color as the living area. It held one small closet and nothing else. He thought of the report of the photo of Diana’s bedroom and realized that it wouldn’t fit so this room had to belong to the one stained mattress that he assumed Spencer and Julian shared. He looked into the closet tapping until he found a hollow spot toward the middle of the closet no doubt having covered the cubby hole Julian had mentioned. The realtor said something about loose floor boards and rubbed the back of his bulging neck. Rossi once again just smiled.

So this is the room that Julian was in if her story was to be believed. And if this part was true then the rest of her account held very little water. If she had been in the front room it would be feasible that she saw the man before Spencer peeled her away from the window and hid her. But from the back room there are no sight lines to the front or the back to give a positive id.

His heart fell and something rose in his throat. Maybe the child was just confused. Maybe the worse that happened here was some bad police work. He went to the front of the house as the realtor showed the master bedroom.

Dave wondered when the next flight was and if he would be home by tomorrow night. He pulled out the photo and folded it in his hand. Maybe this should be the picture's final resting place. Here in the place that the boy called home. Who knew maybe ten years from now someone else would come across the photo and figure out some missing piece he missed.

The last thing they looked at was the hall closet.

By this point both knew the rest of this showing was going to be fruitless. So as they finished up and the realtor went to sign in on the form in the kitchen and Dave shut the doors of the hall. Starting with the bathroom and moving clockwise. Resting his hand on the frame for a moment of each apologizing to the house for not being able to give it closure.

He placed the boys photo on the top shelf of the linen closet tucking it into the corner where it wouldn’t be easily found before shutting the door. Then he went to shut the master bedroom door and he stopped short. Hand resting against the white painted wood he remembered that this was the place that Spencer had been attacked his last act holding a door key and facing this door as if to lock it.

Why.

When Rossi thought of this front room belonging to the children the answer was clear. Another layer of protection for Julian. But now the knowledge that it belonged to the mother instead had his brain reeling.

Why turn your back to lock the door of an empty room when your attacker is behind you.

There had to be noise right no matter what was happening their had to be noise that is what spurred the boy into action.

The back door had not shown signs of forced entry if he remembered correctly so that meant either the attacker was in the house or came in the front. Either way they would have to get the frying pan from the kitchen and that couldn’t have been quiet. So why lock the door. Why not tuck yourself away and wait.

His first thought was valuables. The boy locking the door to keep the attacker away from the things in Diana Reid’s room. But the picture did not show any valuables he could think of and he doubted that the house in the state he the pictures showed boated many high value items.

The other thought was protection. The boy locking the door to keep the attacker away from Diana Reid.

“Is everything alright sir?” The realtor asked now standing in the front of the house looking back at Rossi.

“Yeah,” Rossi said with a nod watching the man leave the house before slipping the photo back into his pocket. There were the normal platitudes then the two men went their separate ways.

Once he made it back to the car he drove off not wanting the realtor to see the inner turmoil he was feeling at the moment. He had hoped the house would provide clear answers not repeat the same question. Damn this hamster wheel of a case he didn’t remember it being this hard to feel like he was getting somewhere.

“Che palle!” He intoned hand slamming against the wheel?

“What about the balls?” A voice intoned behind him and he jerked his head back meeting a pair of brown eyes before the small child pointed forward “car” the girl said making him slam on the brakes and directed the rental car to the shoulder of the road before hitting the car ahead.

He then took a few calming breaths hands gripping and releasing the wheel trying to starve off his impending panic attack.

"Jules I told you we had to stay quiet.” A second voice called from the back and Rossi stepped out of the car shutting the door behind him and pacing the side of the road.

After a few minutes and a lot of curses he sat down and looked into the rear view mirror where he could see the faces of the two children.

“Get in a seat.” He told them and they quickly complied the boy helping the girl climb over the seats to sit down before doing so himself.

“Now, do either of you want to tell me what in….” he took a deep breath “the world you think you are doing?”

“We are…” The girl started but the boy reached over tapped her shoulder and shook his head. Rossi turned his gaze on the boy.

“We um, saw you going into the house and um…” the boy mumbled.

“You forgot to interview Ethan.”

“Jules.”

“All interviews, whether with victims, witnesses or suspects, are termed “investigative interviews”. The information gathered in an investigative interview is tested against available facts. These interviews provide high-quality material that enables the guilty to be brought to justice and the innocent to be exonerated. They increase public confidence in the investigating agency, be it local or federal, particularly with victims and witnesses of crime.” The girl said in a soft monotone that had Rossi’s hard gaze on the boy turn to one of surprise as he twisted to look at the girl.

“That’s from my book.”

“Page 142.” The girl nodded as if telling him the page number would make the verbatim quoting less of a surprise.

“Julian saw you get out of your car. I was going to try and get her but then you walked out and…” the kids hid. Rossi’s brain supplied the end to a very poorly thought out lie. He thinks for a few minutes he should turn around and return the children back to where they hitch hiked from. After all he did not ask for stowaways especially not these two.

“And where are you supposed to be?”

“The library. It’s Saturday and Mrs. Jennings doesn’t like us underfoot.”

“Mrs. Jennings?”

“Yes.” The girl said once again in a tone that stopped the conversation.

But the girl did pose a good argument. Or well recite one at least. He hadn’t talked to the boy and it’s possible that the boy given how close he was to the girl could shed some light on Spencer that the people he had talked to would not be the wiser to. After all Ray knew more about him than anyone else when he was in high school.

The question is could he forgive himself for having these conversations with children who no matter how precocious were under age and couldn’t really consent.

A question that fought against the feeling in his gut that asked if he could move on if he didn’t.

He sat there at war with himself until he felt his own stomach rumble reminding him that it was almost noon and the only thing he had consumed that day was a singular cup of bad coffee.

With that his stomach decided for him.

“Alright. Have either of you ate?” He asked unsurprised when both kids shook their heads. Figures.

“Alright then I will tell you what. First we are going to get some food and then you and I are going to have a talk.” He said pointing at the boy and the girl. “Capice?”

“Did you know that 44 states have laws regarding safety belts in all motor vehicles that aren’t busses? New Jersey was the first state to pass the law on March 1, 1985. The state of Nevada added the law July 1, 1987.” The girl started rambling.

“Umm I didn’t.” Rossi said as he started the car.

“Some states have primary…”

“Julian words please.” The boy said.

“I am using words.” The girl stared so calmly Rossi almost laughed. He did have to bite back a chuckle at the look of pure annoyance that took over the boys face though.

“Fine.” The girl huffed. “Agent. Rossi, sir. You aren’t wearing your seatbelt.” The girl said before looking at her companion with a matching annoyed glare.

“Better?” She asked, her tone slightly biting.

“Much thank you.” The boy bit back at this point Rossi buckled and drove off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n- okay so question originally my idea was to have a BAU team made mostly of guest characters (Ryan from 1.15 ‘unfinished business’, Kate from 2.02 ‘p911’, Cooper from 5.18 ‘the fight’ and suspect behavior, and Garret from 10.19 ‘beyond borders’ and the show of the same name. would you all like to see that or would it be better to put the criminal minds cast baring Reid and adding Ryan back in time to run the case? I’m asking because I have both concepts in my head and can’t figure out how best to go about it once the team shows up.
> 
> Also Rossi is about to make some really bad decisions coming up. You are warned.


	5. “Sorrow looks back, Worry looks around, Faith looks up”

**A/N - rewrite of chapter five please read. New content starts at bold and italicized word.**

* * *

“Sometimes the curiosity can kill the soul 

but leave the pain.” 

-Lewis Carroll- 

* * *

David Rossi does not sleep that night. His conversation with Ethan running though his head on repeat. Answering questions he had but leaving him with more. 

David Rossi does not sleep that night. But he does lie down and tries to sleep, his eyes open half an hour later and sleep does not come. The first time he decides to abandon his bed he ends up at a casino. After he is out a few hundred and has had enough drinks to feel presently buzzed and warm he returns to the hotel room for his second try. 

He closes his eyes once again, but a half hour later he startles into consciousness without any idea of what dream he had been having. He goes down to the pool and swims laps until his muscles scream in protest. He makes his way back to his bed after a quick shower lays down and closes his eyes. Thirty minutes later his eyes open and he slams his fists against the bed before sitting up and running a hand through unruly hair he had not cared to dry before laying down. 

So he goes down to the local 24 hour store and buys shitty ingredients to make some shitty Cacio e Pepe and some equally shitty wine. He finds a radio station that plays something akin to classical music and he makes his meal, he eats his meal, he cleans up his dishes, then lays back down. Thirty minutes later he is awake. 

With out supplies to deep clean the hotel room he decides that he will not be getting any sleep and glares at the ceiling as if it is to blame for this plight. He lays there till the front desk calls with his 8 am wake up. He then showers, prepares, and dresses for the day. He even shaves as he had not the day before and he had been in need of one. 

He goes back to the newspaper office. There are no inklings of cases that could be connected for two full years. And an outside perpetrator for this case would not be able to exist in a vacuum. 

He went back to the precinct. Back to the files by this time he signed them out. Took them to the hotel and made an evidence board. The case was as peacemailed as he remembered but William Reid had an alibi. 

Now he could do what he would have done fifteen years ago and start back at the beginning but this boy and this case seems to be a perpetual hamster wheel. So he goes to the strip, looses some more money, finds some female company, and drinks until his insides are warm. Then he goes to his room and falls asleep. This time when his brain snaps back to consciousness thirty minutes later. He decides to let the case go. He uses the hotel phone and dials the familiar number for the BAU. 

_**It**_ is practically 1 am in Vegas which means that it is almost 4 am in Quantico and so he is pretty sure that Jason will still be at home asleep. 

He is halfway through dialing the number when there is a knock on the door. He stands slowly and approaches cautiously. Through the peep hole he sees Rodriguez standing outside holding a file dressed in civilian clothes. 

1 am his brain is not liking the justifications his brain is giving him for the visit so he cautiously opens the door. Then steps back when the man asks for entry. The man's eyes track the evidence board David made with something akin to guilt. 

The part of David that has always been a bit too close to the monsters he caught in his youth has a sick thought to make the man to look closer at the child he failed. But he tempers himself and offers coffee. Rodriguez nods. As he starts the god awful hotel coffee he takes note of the man. He is nervous, shifting feet unfocused eyes shifting around the evidence board. Hands tightening and loosing around the file as if scared of what it holds. His knees rhythmically hyperextending as if he is preparing to run away with out ever moving his feet. 

It takes five minutes to make the coffee and Rodriquez does not speak in any of them. After the coffee is made Rossi offers him a seat on the room's lone chair and the detective speaks. 

“Actually, it is best if you sit.” The man says Rossi moves to sit on the bed fingers itching to grab the discarded cell phone. 

“Why don’t we both.” He counters and the man nods. Then he shifts the file and Rossi’s heart jumps into his throat. A coroner's report. 

He reaches a hand out for the file barely registering the detective’s words as he apologizes. He weighs the file in his hand. It's thin and he can’t help feeling that the case ending should hold more weight than this. 

The first page is the pictures of the post mortem body. Rossi has to bite back bile as he looks down. At this point, six months decomposed, the remains are skeletal with leathery skin stretched across sharp features. Some of the darkening blonde hair is attached but it is thin and frail looking. Their is what looks to be a good sized indent on the skull, most likely from the blunt force trauma that occurred. The body is covered which is a blessing. 

“You are sure?” He asks as he turns to the next page to see the amount of injuries. The body sustained. 

“We have a positive ID.” Rodriguez states and Rossi nods flipping to read the report. He gets through maybe a single paragraph before he puts it down. 

“Has the family and friends been informed?” He asks hoping that Rodriquez isn’t here to ask him to make those contacts. 

“I spoke to the Reid’s.” He states and Rossi nods closing the file and setting it onto the bed. 

“When was the body found?” 

“About a week ago someone came across it on a hunting trip. Says he got turned around on the trail and was following some old tracks when he saw some buzzards and later the boy.” 

“Spencer.” 

“Excuse me.”

“His name isn't boy it’s Spencer. You owe him that courtesy.” Rossi barks. 

“Of course.” The detective deflects. 

“It is late, and I am exhausted. Please leave.” He states and the man nods walking out of the room without grabbing the report. Rossi places it at the bottom of the box and then takes down his evidence board. 

Rodriquez's visit totaled 30 minutes but it exhausted him so he cancelled his unmade call to Jason and turned around to fall asleep. 

The next morning he goes to the precinct to drop off the files and sees Harris. The man looks like Rossi feels. Red eyes and grief overtaking his face. He asks to see the report but Rossi tightens his grip on the evidence box. His old memories of dealing with grieving families bringing him back, he says that Harris doesn’t really want to see. That he should remember Spencer as he was. 

He shifts the evidence box to one hip and reaches into his pocket his hand finding the photo that sent him on this journey. 

He fishes it out and hands it to Harris. 

“This is Spencer, the one you knew and cared for. Remember him like this.” He said pressing the photo into the other man's hands. Finally finding a place that he can lay it to rest. 

The man nods and looks at the photo like he is drinking the first bit of water he has had in weeks. 

There is a scream somewhere deeper in the precinct. A scream that he can place and that makes David Rossi into a coward. 

_“Thank you for what your doing. For Julian.”_

_“I am just researching.”_

_“Your giving her hope.”_

_Hope_. That is what Ethan had said that Rossi’s investigation gave Julian. Now it gives her a grave. Before this morning he would have said having closure for the kids was enough. 

He would say that finding answers and providing them was all he wanted.

He would unknowingly be lying to himself. 

Because as he stands in the foyer of the Las Vegas Police Department and listens to the two children scream in emotional agony he can’t help but think this town would be a whole lot better if he had ripped up that photo and caught his initial flight. 

* * *

**A/N - don’t shoot there are still six more chapters please at least read the next one before you prepare the pitchforks.**

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this story and the telling of it Spencer has a kid sister five years his junior (just after the Riley Jenkins Case) and he has a friend in high school, Ethan, from 2.18's Jones. Rossi leaves the BAU about 10 years after the events of the Nelson Sparrow Flashback, about a two years after the Keystone Killer Case (early 1988), and one year following the Galen Case (late 1988). Which places it in approximately October of 1992.


End file.
